


bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air

by blueblueelectricblue



Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Diapers, Hurt/Comfort, Just assume I'm ignoring and/or fixing everything I don't like, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting, canon? what's that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:58:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueblueelectricblue/pseuds/blueblueelectricblue
Summary: The Halloween party is awesome. The next day? Not so much. Featuring a slew of Instagrammable costumes, communication misfires leading to a close call, JARVIS as a solid bro, too many meetings in one day, and an early return from New York to DC, during which Steve finally asks a big question.(Or, the one where Steve decides Bucky would benefit from playtime too.)





	bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air

Bucky isn’t really one for large gatherings; even the rare occasions when the whole Avengers team and friends or significant others can have dinner together are almost overwhelming. Too many people in what’s usually not a big enough space — which makes it hard for him to be able to find and get to the exits easily. But Tony had booked Cipriani 42nd Street for his annual Halloween costume party, a space more than big enough for everyone who’d been sent an invitation. Even with nearly a thousand guests in attendance, Bucky hadn’t felt too claustrophobic the night before. He’d still needed a few breaks from the noise and the lights, but so had Steve, and they’d been able to withdraw from the party every so often and breathe fresh(-ish) air. And their costumes had provided a degree of anonymity; Bucky hadn’t felt quite so under the microscope as he does at a dinner table full of people who know way too much about the things he’d been made to do since before most of their parents (or grandparents) had even been born.

And they hadn’t been the only ones who made regular getaways from the festivities, although quite a few of the other escapees were smokers, which probably didn’t count as fresh-ish air. Steve had scandalized Scott Lang and his friend Luis by taking a few drags off the cigarette Bucky had bummed from Luis, much to their own amusement. Scott’s and Luis’s reactions upon finding out that cigarettes were once-upon-a-Great-Depression marketed to asthma patients and that Steve could blow perfect smoke rings were even funnier (Dugan had taught him on one long, bored night camped out in a burned-out chateau in the north of France), and Bucky wished as it was happening that he’d thought to record the interaction. Not that _that_ can go on Steve’s Instagram account; it would be far too controversial, and Captain America is supposed to be a good influence or some such nonsense.

Besides, they’d already pulled _way_ ahead in the likes and comments department compared with the other Avengers. Natasha had put together a betting pool on whose costumes would get the most reaction on social media. She'd come to the party dressed as a Night Witch, which, well, it's pretty on-brand for her and Bucky had expected no less. A few of them had decided to do a group costume based on _The Good Place_ , with Maria as Good Janet, Wanda as Neutral Janet, Laura as Bad Janet, Sharon as Eleanor, and Clint as Michael, which turned out pretty great. Steve and Bucky took a lot of pictures of them, and of Sam, who had gone as Axel Foley from _Beverly Hills Cop_ , and Tony and Pepper, who’d arrived as Han Solo and Princess Leia. Tony had even shaved for the occasion, much to everyone’s surprise. But it’s Bucky and Steve’s Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid costumes that seem to be the biggest hit on Instagram.

By the time they’d gotten ready for bed, Steve’s post combining a couple of silly selfies involving attempts at adjusting his fake moustache, one actual nice photo of them taken by another actual human person, and a short video of them in-character has an _obscene_ number of likes. (Bucky: “I don't enjoy jungles and I don't enjoy swamps. I don't like snakes. I don't much care for night work.” Steve: “Bitch, bitch, bitch.”) They are _so_ gonna win the bragging rights for this year, Bucky can feel it.

The two of them had agreed before going to sleep that they’d actually had a pretty good time. They hadn’t escaped notice completely, partly because of the need to pose for photos and partly because people do tend to pay attention to large clusters of superheroes congregating around the bar. Bucky couldn’t blame them for that; watching Thor, Sif, and Valkyrie match each other shot-for-shot on some kind of fucked-up weird space liquor they’d hauled in from Christ knows what planet, dressed as the Three Musketeers and bellowing, “One for all and all for one!” before slamming down the booze had been honestly amazing. But it _had_ been good — really. Bucky can’t remember the last time he’d had such a fun time surrounded by so many other people.

Another positive: Tony might stop bugging him and Steve to come and stay on Steve’s floor of formerly-Stark, now-Avengers Tower, because they’re here for the next week. Although if Bucky’s realistic, that might only last as far as Thanksgiving; Tony and Pepper aren’t heading to Malibu as usual because there’s some kind of Stark Foundation event in Boston the day after that Tony can’t miss, and he’s started making noises about having everyone over for dinner. Bucky is more than happy to let Steve handle telling Tony that they’ve already accepted Mrs. Wilson’s invitation when the time comes, but Steve doesn’t know that’s his problem just yet.

However, despite having had a legitimately good time at last night’s Halloween party, Bucky still wakes up to a shitty brain day, because his asshole physiology picks the absolute dumbest times to make life even more difficult than it already is. _Everything_ is hard. Even just brushing his teeth is hard and requires too much concentration. He makes it through to the end, somehow, but can’t retrieve the muscle memory to run his fingers through his newly shortened hair — cut this week in anticipation of the party — let alone to comb it, or to shave or to put on a new t-shirt. Bucky shoves his feet into a pair of unlaced sneakers that are actually Steve’s, but they’re the closest shoes to his feet, and calls it good enough for now.

The lights in this mansion-sized apartment are too bright this morning; the air is too warm and too still; even the noise from the coffeemaker in the kitchen is too loud, the grinder like a chainsaw directly applied to his eardrums. Steve’s nowhere to be found, which means he’s probably at the gym downstairs, and that’s actually fine with Bucky for now. It means once the coffee is ready and he has a hot mug of it steaming between his hands, he can just sit in the quiet living room for a while and take a sip every so often, trying to breathe deeply and bring down his heart rate. His pulse is racing like a starving greyhound right now.

He picks up a magazine on the coffee table to give himself something to focus on, but Bucky finds reading is too hard. He’s only able to concentrate on a sentence or two at a time and continually loses his place until he finally just gives up on it. No to television or the radio, which Bucky already knows will be just as bad as trying to read, only with the added feeling of electric screwdrivers drilling into the inside of his skull, so he just drinks his coffee and sits in silence.

Bucky can’t help but flinch when the front door flies open and narrowly misses banging a hole into the wall. It’s Steve, of course, and he’s brought food back with him. Bucky would ordinarily be all about the fresh-baked bagels that he can smell all the way from the sofa, but the scent combined with the sound of the bags crinkling makes him want to die a little. Having to slice and put toppings on a bagel is not something he’s feeling very capable of doing right now, and he isn’t hungry anyway.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Steve says cheerfully. “I got breakfast!”

“Great,” Bucky manages, gripping his coffee mug a little more tightly, but only with his right hand. He _definitely_ doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with shattered ceramic and hot coffee everywhere at the moment.

Steve’s annoyingly cheery good-morning face is immediately replaced with Steve’s concerned face, and Bucky isn’t sure which one is worse. “Hey, is everything okay?”

The words are slow to come, rearranging themselves in his head and then Bucky has to arrange them back before he can give an answer that’s coherent enough. “Woke up all fuzzy.”

“One of those days, huh?” Steve gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to fix you a couple of bagels?”

“Later, maybe?” It never fails to amaze Bucky, even though he has a sharply increased number of returning memories to prove it, how thoughtful Steve is and how good he is at figuring out what people need without being explicitly told. At what _Bucky_ needs.

“Sure. Is it okay if I eat now? I’ll stay in the kitchen if it would bug you too much to be around the smell.”

Bucky shakes his head and wishes immediately that he hadn’t, because it makes his vision swim.

“I’m gonna eat in there just to be on the safe side. I’ll come back out here when I’m done. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Or JARVIS.”

Who the fuck is—oh, right. The building’s creepy disembodied robot butler with the BBC newsreader voice. “Okay.”

Steve’s even nice enough to have thoroughly brushed his teeth and washed his hands before rejoining Bucky in the living room, so all he smells of is peppermint instead of his favorite garlic and onion bagels. _Maybe I should start faking bad brain days and then I wouldn’t have to put up with Steve’s morning bagel breath so often_ , he thinks, and it is just so wildly inappropriate, pretending to be ill just to avoid kissing post-bagel Steve that he cracks up, even though he knows it looks completely inexplicable from the outside.

“You’re not laughing at _me_ , are you?” Steve wants to know.

Bucky waves his hand in a gesture that they’ve mutually decided means, “Tell you later when I can.” It’s come in useful for both of them more than once over the past four or five months. They really ought to look into learning some ASL for when verbalizing thoughts is too difficult, considering how often it happens for him and Steve both. And it would be a completely different method for talking about people they don’t like, and also for tormenting Clint, who’s fluent in it. Ooh, yeah, that _does_ sound like a good idea. Bucky’s going to look up some online classes as soon as he can remember how tablets work again.

“Okay.” Steve’s smiling, though. “How about a hug? Would that help?” he asks once Bucky’s stopped snickering.

Steve’s hugs _always_ help, and Bucky sets down his now-empty mug to better accept Steve’s tight, almost-crushing-but-in-the-best-possible-way hug, returning it fiercely. His psychiatrist, Dr. Ghazali — who is also Steve’s psychiatrist, which is the only reason Bucky had agreed to start seeing her in the first place — had suggested buying a weighted blanket to help him ground himself whenever Bucky gets too overloaded with sensory input. But, as he’s discovered, why spend the money when your boyfriend will do it for free? It takes a good ten minutes or so of intense cuddling, but Bucky feels less scraped-out and staticky afterward, his headache diminished. Still very tired and a bit overwhelmed, but far more capable of real interaction.

“Thanks, Steve,” he says, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Anything set it off, or did you just wake up like that?”

“Woke up like that. Too bad I can’t blame it on a hangover.”

Sometimes being a genetically modified secret fascist organization’s pet super-soldier is _the worst_ , but for more than the obvious reasons. Bucky can only get drunk from the alien liquor imported by the Asgardians, and the same goes for Steve. They’d attempted it together once. _Once_. That had been enough, especially considering the lecture Tony Stark, of all fucking people, had dropped on their heads, all, “Do you know how much it cost me to get that video scrubbed from the internet?” and “Why the fuck _were_ you guys even trying to find corned beef and lube at 1:30 in the morning?” and “Wait, no, oh my God, _please_ do not tell me the answer to that question, I might throw up in my mouth and asphyxiate.” So they haven’t done it again, if only to avoid a lecture from Mr. I-Had-Six-Martinis-and-Blew-Up-My-Own-Birthday-Party.

“You want to grab a nap? It’s not like we turned in early last night, and I could use one myself,” Steve says.

“Oh, did all that eating take it out of you, Steve?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No, asshole, I went down to the gym and worked out for awhile, and _then_ I went out for breakfast.”

“I sure hope you showered first. Some poor kid running the register gets a whiff of your armpits and faints, that’s bad PR.”

This eyeroll somehow manages to outdo the previous one. “ _Yes_ , I showered first, you fuckin’ pain in the ass.” A pause. “And fuck you, I wear deodorant.”

“Half the time you wear _my_ deodorant because you’re too goddamn lazy to figure out where you put it. I don’t understand how you can’t just put things back where they were so they’ll be there the next time you need them.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at Bucky instead of bothering to come up with a real answer.

Bucky cracks up again. “Brat.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“So you’re not gonna fight me on taking a nap today?” Bucky grins. 

“Bucky, I’m the one who suggested that nap in the first place.”

“Then why aren’t we taking one right now?”

“Because you decided to give me shit about my personal hygiene. And _you_ haven’t even shaved today, Buck!”

“I’m going for a new look.”

“Your new look is gonna give my balls road rash.”

“Bold of you to presume that _I’d_ be the one going down on _you_ , Steve, but I respect it. Who else but me could even handle you?”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by this.”

“A little from column A, a little from column B. Your cock is extremely mighty and virtuous, now c’mon, let’s go lie down in that insanely huge programmable bed. I’m out of gas for the morning,” Bucky has to admit. His mind’s less of a tangle now, but it still takes up energy to get back to baseline.

“Yeah, I feel you there,” Steve says with a little sigh, and all of a sudden he looks tired and sad and small.

“Everything okay? You didn’t overdo it at the gym, did you?” Steve still has four more days before the doctor will clear him for his regular workout routine.

“No, I just did a little jogging on the treadmill.” A long pause. “It’s…it’s hard to be back here.”

Bucky isn’t sure whether Steve means the Avengers Tower specifically or New York more generally, but he has enough memories back now that either way it doesn’t matter because the outcome – that Steve is having a difficult time – is still the same. Easier to focus on Steve than himself. Bucky will be fine after he gets some sleep and maybe some food later anyway. Steve’s problem, however, is just about the only thing he can’t solve with food, and Bucky isn’t about to let him just try to power through it on his own. “You want to go home early?”

“No, it’s okay.” Steve does not sound like it’s okay.

“Are you sure? You can use me as an excuse, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine, I just.” Steve rakes a hand through his hair and sends it into total anarchy. “Need to recalibrate before I have all those meetings tomorrow.”

“You’ll do great.” Bucky takes Steve’s free hand and tugs at it, a thought occurring to him now that Steve’s admitted to needing some form of stress relief. And he could use it too; figuring out what kids’ movie to watch or what game to play or what choices to give Steve for dinner is more Bucky’s speed today. “Too bad we didn’t bring any—” He cuts himself off, remembering just in the nick of time that the BBC robot butler is listening and watching and probably recording their every move.

“Any what?” Steve asks.

“Supplies,” is all he says, waiting to be able to close the door on JARVIS. Pepper had told them that the living room and kitchen are wired for the AI to provide assistance, but none of the bedrooms or bathrooms. Standard across the Tower. It’s still more weird and creepy than helpful and not-creepy to Bucky, especially because so far, it’s been silent.

“Um.” Steve goes pink. “Actually…” He lets go of Bucky to drag an unobtrusive-looking duffel bag from under and then onto the bed, but he doesn’t unzip it.

To say that Bucky’s surprised would be an understatement. “You brought supplies?” He doesn’t add, _Outside of our house? To Avengers Tower? With all these people living and working here?_ A lot of the time, Steve won’t even go on a walk to the park and back when he’s little because he’s so afraid of being found out.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t need ‘em,” Steve mumbles.

“No, it’s fine. I just don’t remember this being in our luggage. Did I miss something?”

“I stashed it under the suitcase that had our costumes.” Steve’s hands are trembling.

“That’s okay, Steve. I’m not upset with you or anything like that. I was just confused. Do you need some things out of that bag right now?”

“I thought maybe _you_ needed it today.” Seeing Bucky’s expression, Steve clarifies, “Needed me to be little. So we could spend time together.”

“Steve, that’s very sweet. But I like spending time with you no matter how old you feel.”

Steve nods. “I just think it helps us both when you’re Daddy and I’m…”

“When you’re my lovebug,” Bucky finishes for him, his face relaxing into a smile.

“ _Does_ it help?”

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve from behind and plants a kiss on his cheek, then another. “You bet it does. It makes me feel good to take care of you and know that you feel safe with me. But you can ask for hugs and cuddles anytime you want, Stevie, it doesn’t have to be just when you feel little. I’d never say no to anything that helped you feel better.”

Steve leans back into the embrace, putting more weight on Bucky than he would if he were feeling entirely adult. “I know that too. But right now I think I don’t want anyone to bother us until tomorrow, because I need my daddy.”

“And I need you too, baby.” Bucky squeezes him, glad he can do this again without having to worry about Steve’s broken ribs now that they’re all healed up. “You want to change before we get into bed?”

“Yes, please.”

Bucky lets go because he has to if he wants to open the duffel bag and get the necessary supplies. It usually holds Steve’s gym clothes and toiletries, but today it’s stuffed with as many items as Steve could cram into the bag: diapers, pull-ups, wipes, cream, powder, a travel-sized bottle of lavender-chamomile bubble bath, a pacifier, a coloring book, a 16-count box of crayons — even Steve’s favorite blanket has made it inside.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” Bucky quirks a smile at him.

“Not _everything_. I wanted the bigger box of crayons but they wouldn’t fit, and neither would my bear,” Steve explains. “We need a bigger bag than this, Daddy. Can I wear a pull-up?”

He can’t help laughing. “I’ll make a note of that, Stevie. And yes.” It’s unusual for Steve to want pull-ups for sleeping, but he’d brought the thicker ones that are closer to diapers than training pants, so Bucky doesn’t try to talk him out of it.

Steve doesn’t wait for help getting his jeans and boxers off and tossed into the nearest open suitcase, but he does let Bucky help him step into the pull-up, then grabs his blanket and gets under the covers. Bucky kicks off the shoes he’s wearing and joins him. Even if he stays awake the whole time, it will still be lovely to just lie down in this dark, quiet room and cuddle with Steve, listening to his soft, even breathing as he sleeps. But Bucky does fall asleep, and not too long after Steve does.

He wakes up first, not moving anything except his head to look at the clock next to their bed, because he doesn’t want to wake Steve too suddenly; he really, _really_ doesn’t do well with that. Not as an adult, and definitely not as a kid. Almost three hours have passed since they’d first curled up together, and Bucky does actually feel somewhat better now that he’s gotten more sleep.

Steve awakens more slowly a few minutes later, yawning around his pacifier, and goddamn if he isn’t so cute that Bucky almost can’t stand it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s ear. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Steve tells him, still without removing the pacifier. Good thing Bucky’s becoming fluent in it.

“Slept okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve rolls into him a little further, resting his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky rubs Steve’s back for a few minutes, until his pinned-down arm starts to go a little numb. And because he definitely has to pee. “Steve, I need you to lift your head for just a second, please.”

Steve does so that Bucky can get out of bed but _hmph_ s about it.

“I’ll be right back, I just have to use the bathroom. What about you? Do you need a change?”

“Still dry, Daddy.” Steve flashes him a triumphant smile.

“You need to go potty?”

“Nope.”

“Why don’t you come with me and decide if you want to try?”

“Uuuuuuuuuugh.” Steve flops his head back down onto the pillow rather melodramatically.

Okay, it’s just one of those days, then. Not that Bucky had been expecting any less, really, and it isn’t like changing diapers requires a degree in rocket surgery. “Okay. Be right back.”

He is, and Steve takes the opportunity to climb right into Bucky’s lap as soon as he sits down on the bed, hugging him like Bucky’s been gone for a month instead of two minutes. Bucky is more than happy to oblige, the solid weight of Steve on top of him a comfort. Nobody else ever hugs Bucky like this, tight and fierce and warm. He can’t get enough of it.

“Can we have lunch soon, Daddy?” Steve asks.

“What, you mean I have to feed you _again_? Didn’t I just feed you yesterday?” Bucky teases.

Steve laughs. “You’re supposed to feed me _every_ day.”

“Am I? Is that a new rule?”

“Old rule. Can we have grilled cheese?”

“Hmm, I don’t remember that rule, but I’ll take your word for it, Stevie.” Bucky tweaks his nose, making Steve laugh again.

“So, can we?”

“Yes, we can have grilled cheese, Mr. One-Track-Mind.”

“I can’t help being hungry. I ate _hours_ ago.”

“And you’re definitely going to starve to death if I don’t start cooking, right?”

“Daddy!”

“If you want to eat soon, you’re going to have to let me get up so I can go into the kitchen,” Bucky points out.

“Hmph.”

“You want to get some pants on, maybe?”

A Sarah Bernhardt-quality sigh. “I _guess_.”

“I mean, I don’t care whether you wear them or not, but I don’t want to hear any complaining about how cold you are if you don’t.”

Steve reluctantly climbs out of Bucky’s lap to pull on a pair of sweatpants and some thick, fuzzy socks, topping off the look with his favorite blanket wrapped firmly around his shoulders and the pacifier stashed in his pocket. He’s more impatient than usual while Bucky makes a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches, even though he eats two apples and a banana, and Bucky’s relieved to be finished cooking because he’s almost tripped over Steve like a dozen times. Bucky loves him and would do anything to please him, but the boy simply does _not_ give a shit if he’s in the way.

After lunch, Steve’s sprawled onto the sofa and Bucky’s flipping through the available streaming services (which is all of them, including some he’s never heard of) to find them something to watch for a while, when the creepy robot butler announces, “Agents Hill and Romanoff are currently on their way to see you and will arrive in approximately three minutes,” making them both jump.

Steve immediately goes rigid against Bucky.

“Steve, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he says, and then realizes something he should have done as soon as they’d emerged from their nap. “Shit. JARVIS!”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“You aren’t recording any of this, are you?”

“No, sir. This floor is automatically on a do-not-disturb setting that can only be changed by you or Captain Rogers, with a special override for true emergencies.”

“Then how the fuck did Maria and Natasha manage to disturb us?”

“My apologies. The setting does not automatically extend to screening those who wish to contact you. But I am more than happy to apply that to your floor.”

“Yeah, please do that. From now on, anytime we’re here, it _definitely_ applies.”

“Noted, sir.”

Bucky turns his attention back to Steve, who’s gone very pale, his blue eyes wide. “Steve, baby, talk to me. Or at least breathe a little, okay?”

“They’re gonna _know_ ,” Steve gasps.

“No, they won’t know. I have an idea, but you have to do exactly as I say, okay?”

Steve nods.

“Relax, sweetheart, relax,” Bucky croons into his ear. “I’m gonna get rid of them.”

“How?”

“Gimme just one second and I’ll show you.”

Bucky lets go of Steve and sprints to the spare bedroom to grab a blanket off that bed. Bucky tells him to lie down and throws the blanket over Steve’s body. Bucky takes a moment to arrange it so that none of Steve’s actual blanket shows, or any of him except his head, really.

“You’re gonna pretend to be asleep,” Bucky tells him, turning off the TV. “So I want you to close your eyes now and start taking some nice deep breaths to help you calm down.”

“And they’ll leave?”

“I’m gonna try and keep them from even coming in at all. No doubt they’ll turn around and get back on the elevator once I explain that you weren’t feeling too great and fell asleep on the sofa.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they aren’t coming to see _me_ , that’s why. Now listen to Daddy and close your eyes, okay?”

Somehow, they pull it off. Bucky has no idea how he managed to get them to agree to meet up tomorrow after all the meetings are done with, because it isn’t like Maria or Natasha are dumb bunnies, and Steve is usually the world’s worst actor. So he chalks it up to divine intervention and silently thanks whoever decided to get involved. Steve starfishes himself onto Bucky the moment he sits down.

“See? We did it, Stevie. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” Bucky tells Steve, who he’s not quite sure can actually hear him because he’s burritoed up in his favorite blanket and got his face buried in Bucky’s neck.

“They almost saw, they almost _found_ _out_ , what if they found out, Daddy?” Steve asks him.

“But they didn’t see or find out. It’s okay, it’s over.”

“It’s not okay, they almost _saw_!”

“No, they didn’t, Stevie, I promise you.” Bucky gives him a squeeze.

“But they could have!’

“What makes you think they could have seen? You were all tucked up under that big blanket.”

“What if they had come and JARVIS didn’t tell us and they saw me with _my_ blanket? Or…or…” Steve trails off and gives one big, long shudder. He doesn’t need to finish anyway; Bucky knows he doesn’t really mean the blanket. The sweatpants aren’t baggy enough to conceal Steve’s pull-up, even sitting down.

“JARVIS wouldn’t have done that to us. Would you, JARVIS?” He realizes as he’s answering Steve that it’s true, and it’s still a little weird to have an invisible AI watching and listening, but Bucky can’t say JARVIS doesn’t have their backs.

Which means that Tony does, too, for all his outsized bravado that can be a quite literal headache at times, and that’s worth something. Especially since he’d, well…seen the videotape of what the Winter Soldier had done to his parents and all that. Bucky’s still surprised that Tony hadn’t immediately tried to blast him in the face with one of those Iron Man gloves the next time they saw each other. But Tony had merely told Bucky that he’d already had a lot of time to process their deaths and was just re-processing right now and would need a little space, but he wasn’t going to hold it against Bucky, considering the circumstances under which it happened.

“No, I would not. I was programmed to only be of assistance, and I have found that most humans do not care for surprise visitors.”

“Then why didn’t they call?” Bucky asks.

“Tower rules prevent me from accessing the contents of your cell phones without express permission, but I can confirm that Agent Romanoff did send a text message to Captain Rogers thirteen minutes ago.”

“Oh, shit, we missed it?” Bucky’s instantly irritated with himself. What a stupid oversight on his part. “I should have checked before we sat down, Steve. I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

“I didn’t think about it either,” he says quietly. “But I’m not mad at you.”

“Well, _I’m_ mad at myself. I need to be more careful in the future, and I will, I promise.” Bucky drops a kiss on top of his head, because that’s the only part of Steve he can really reach.

“I know,” Steve tells him, and relaxes his grip some, which is good, because Bucky needs to breathe too. And move, eventually, preferably before his legs go numb.

“You still want to find a movie to watch?” he asks.

“Yeah.” But Steve sounds hesitant, even though he’s picked up his head again.

“Is there something else you want to do instead?”

“No…”

“Do you want to take a few more minutes, then? It’s okay if you do.”

Steve exhales in a huff against Bucky’s neck. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it, kiddo?”

“I’m wet,” Steve tells him. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, Stevie, that’s all right.” Bucky ruffles his hair.

“I…it happened when I was pretending to be asleep. I had to go really bad but I couldn’t get up ‘til they left and I had an accident.” He buries his face in Bucky’s neck again.

Bucky pats his back a couple of times in reassurance. “It was just an accident, lovebug.”

“And I was gonna try to be bigger today ‘cause it’s easier for you,” Steve says with a sigh.

“You don’t have to keep trying if you don’t want to, Steve. And you certainly don't have to stress yourself out for my sake."

“I don’t think I can be bigger anymore now, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Bucky gives him an extra squeeze. “It’s okay. Really, it is. But we do need to get you changed, all right?”

“Mm-hm.”

Bucky leads him into the master bathroom, and Steve finally remembers the pacifier in his pocket. He visibly relaxes when he pops it into his mouth, his shoulders dropping their squared edges. By the time Bucky’s got him cleaned up and into a diaper, it’s almost as if the past twenty minutes hadn’t happened at all; Steve even giggles when Bucky tickles him a little after getting his pants back on and holds his arms out to be carried into the living room again.

“All better now?” Bucky asks, settling Steve onto his hip.

“All better, Daddy,” he agrees. “I want to watch _Tangled_. Can we watch _Tangled_ now? With popcorn?”

“You know, I think I did see a box of microwave popcorn in one of the cabinets. I can make a bag.”

“Two bags, so you can have some too.”

Bucky cracks up. “Oh, was I not going to get any?”

“I like popcorn.”

“Yeah, clearly.” But he’s still laughing. He can’t say Steve isn’t honest.

Bucky impresses himself by making the popcorn and dumping it into two bowls with one hand, because Steve refuses to be put down until they’re settled on the sofa again. (He makes Steve hold one of the bowls. Bucky’s not about to risk it by trying to carry both.) That in itself is unusual; Steve almost always prefers to walk and only has Bucky carry him once in a while. Bucky doesn’t mind at all. He probably would if he hadn’t also gotten a dose of the super-soldier serum, but it’s really not much more effort than carrying a full basket at Target. Plus, he’s using his metal arm to keep Steve anchored to his hip, which makes things even easier; Bucky could probably pick up a car with that arm if he felt like it. And not some little dumbass SmartCar, either — a full-sized sedan.

He finds the movie by asking JARVIS, because Steve’s starting to get restless and Bucky can’t figure out which streaming service it’s on, and maybe this robot-butler thing isn’t so bad after all. At any rate, asking JARVIS to retrieve it is useful in this case. Steve winds up eating his bowl of popcorn and half of Bucky’s too. After vocally suffering through a cruel and unusual application of napkins to his hands and mouth, he lies down on the sofa with his head in Bucky’s lap with his blanket pulled up to his chin. Bucky wipes his own hands thoroughly so that he can card his fingers through Steve’s hair without getting it all fake-buttery.

“What next? Another movie?” Bucky asks once the credits start rolling.

“Can we see if the TV has _Animaniacs_?” Steve wants to know.

“Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“Sam said he used to watch it a lot when he was a kid and that it’s really funny. Kind of like Looney Tunes.”

“JARVIS, do you have that?” Bucky says.

“We do, Sergeant Barnes. Shall I start with the first episode?”

“That sounds good,” and then he adds on because it feels rude not to, “thanks.”

It turns out that _Animaniacs_ is a _deeply_ silly show. Bucky fucking loves it. He could do without the dramatic singing cat and improbably stupid dog, but the rest of it is pretty good, even if he doesn’t quite get all the pop culture references. The chicken who keeps getting mistaken for a human is definitely a highlight, for one, and "Good Idea, Bad Idea" is consistently hilarious. It puts Bucky in mind of the Marx Brothers a little, too. Steve laughs harder at the show than he has all week. He seems to be getting over the whole AIM thing, but he still hasn’t quite been himself, and Bucky’s glad to see him relaxing and having a good time again. They take a bathroom break after the fifth episode so Bucky can both relieve himself and change Steve, who tries to argue about not wanting to get up because he’s so comfortable, until Bucky gives him The Look.

He’s very proud of The Look. Mrs. Rogers had used it to great effect on them both (what irony, that he can remember everything about her and not much at all of his own family); he’s even practiced it in the mirror when Steve isn’t home to make sure that he’s got it just right. It’s much more effective than anything else Bucky can use on him, because arguing back is useless and yelling isn’t particularly fun for either of them and the only time spanking is involved in their relationship is during the decidedly adult, X-rated part.

“Can you carry me, then, if I _have_ to get up?” Steve asks, looking tragic, but finally sitting up.

“I think you can walk this time, Stevie. It’s not that far and it won’t kill you to stretch your legs.”

“Ugh, _fine_.” He louvres himself off the sofa, but very, very slowly. Just like he starts putting one foot in front of the other very, very slowly.

“Steve.”

“What?”

Bucky deploys The Look a second time and Steve immediately picks up his pace. Bucky uses the bathroom and emerges to find Steve already lying down on the changing pad with his sweatpants down, a new diaper and wipes and powder next to him, ready for Bucky to use.

“Thank you for getting this ready for me, lovebug.” Bucky bends down to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a great helper.”

Steve goes pink with pleasure. “You’re welcome, Daddy.”

It’s a good thing Bucky had insisted on the break, because he opens Steve’s diaper to find that it’s completely saturated. “Jesus, you really had to go, didn’t you?”

“Went twice and didn’t leak,” Steve says.

“That _is_ impressive. But that’s also a good way to get a rash, which I don’t think you’d like very much. You know we’ve talked about this, kiddo. You’re supposed to tell me when you need a change.”

“I know.” Steve lifts up just enough so that Bucky can get him clean with a wipe and slide a new diaper under his bottom, without being asked.

“Otherwise Daddy’s gonna have to start checking you, and I don’t think you’d like that very much either.”

Steve goes pink again. “Um.”

“Something you want to tell me?”

“No, Daddy.” He’s _so_ lying right now, but Bucky doesn’t have the heart to call him on it. Steve will spit it out when he’s good and ready and not a moment before then.

“Okay.” Bucky gives Steve’s tummy a little tickle and then finishes rubbing in some powder before he tapes up the new diaper. “All done,” he says cheerfully.

Steve gets his pants back on once Bucky gets them started for him and sits up, locking his hands together. He stretches them over his head as far as they’ll go, then sighs contentedly as his arms drop and he rolls his shoulders a couple of times.

Bucky waits until he’s done and asks, “You still want to keep watching the show?”

“Yeah, but I wanna color too.”

Steve goes into the bag and retrieves the coloring book and crayons, then follows Bucky back into the living room, opting to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table so he can watch and color at the same time. Bucky takes advantage of the extra room and lies down on the sofa, and soon he’s having trouble staying awake. The nap earlier in the day had helped a great deal, but he’s still pretty wrung out — not that Bucky would ever say anything to Steve, who would only feel guilty about needing more attention as his smaller self. So when his eyes refuse to stay open anymore, Bucky lets himself doze off.

It turns out to be a mistake. A really, really big mistake, because his dream isn’t a dream so much as it is a vivid nightmare. It’s made all the worse because his dreams are actually several memories stacked on top of one another until everything is blood-soaked and silent and full of corpses, but for the screeching of metal against concrete and the distinctive click of a hammer being cocked.

Bucky wakes up yelling, a pair of anxious blue eyes positioned at the other end of the sofa. He manages to stop himself from taking a swing at the last second, when his vision clears and he realizes it’s just Steve, which is an improvement from the last time this had happened. He’d broken Steve’s cheekbone, but Steve had been his adult self and understood what happened perfectly, even getting his own ice pack. Bucky silently curses HYDRA for about the four thousandth time. It would be great if he could wake up from a nightmare without automatically trying to murder everyone around him, thanks.

“Daddy?” Steve whimpers, clutching his blanket so hard that his knuckles are white.

 _Oh, fuck._ Bucky sits up. “I’m okay, lovebug, it was just a bad dream.”

“I know.” He bites his lip and looks down in that way that means he’s trying very hard not to cry.

“Are _you_ okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Bucky’s fairly sure he hadn’t, but Christ knows what his body does when he’s asleep.

Steve shakes his head and then promptly bursts into tears. Bucky practically hand-springs off the sofa and onto the carpet next to Steve, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry if I scared you, lovebug,” Bucky tells him, silently cursing HYDRA for the four thousandth and first time.

Steve shakes his head, but he’s still crying too hard to make himself understood. Bucky just shushes him and rubs his back, because that’s usually the best way to get him calmed down before he makes himself ill. It’d been an effective technique when they were kids and Steve would badly lose a fight to someone, although those had been tears of rage instead, and it’s still effective now, thank fuck. At least, it is when he’s little. So far, Steve hasn’t cried in front of him as an adult. Well, except for that one time on the helicarrier right before they crashed it into the Potomac, but they don’t talk about that.

He does eventually calm down enough to talk, even though his voice is rough and he’s still sniffling. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Then what’s got you so upset?”

“Thought I was helping you,” Steve explains. “With this. Not being big today.”

“You _are_ helping me just by being with me and letting me take care of you. My brain just does what it wants to do whether I like it or not.”

“It wouldn’t be if I’d caught your hand,” he mumbles, looking at the floor.

Bucky sighs. _Of course_. Of _course_ Steve’s beating himself up about this again. He always takes the blame upon himself for everything wrong in the world, even the wrongs he had nothing to do with. “Oh, Steve. How many times do I have to tell you that that wasn’t your fault either?”

“But it _was_.”

“It was not,” he says firmly. “And I’ll tell you a hundred times more that it wasn’t your fault if that would make you feel better. You are _not_ responsible for what happened to me. You tried your hardest to save me. I know you did because I was there. HYDRA was responsible for the way things turned out, nobody else. And now I’m here, and I’m with you, and I’m not leaving you. Ever. Do you understand me?”

 Steve finally looks up, his eyes brimming again. “Yes, Daddy,” he says softly, but doesn’t sound convinced.

Bucky uses his right thumb to brush the tears away in a few gentle swipes. “You trust me, right?”

“Yes.” Steve is a lot more confident in this answer.

“Then please trust me when I say that you didn’t do anything wrong and that I have always loved you and I love you now and I always will.”

He nods, sniffling again a few times. “I do trust you.”

“Good. No more tears, okay?” Bucky says gently.

“Okay.” One more sniffle.

"That's my good boy." He kisses Steve's cheek.

Bucky coaxes him back onto the sofa and finishes mopping up Steve’s face with some tissues, because he’s a snotty mess and needs it badly. For his part, Bucky hasn’t felt like this much of a fuck-up since the time he almost blew up his parents’ house by accidentally leaving the gas on after changing his mind about heating a can of soup. (He remembers that particular memory so well because his dad’s subsequent flip-out had been one for the ages.) But he’s learned that dwelling on mistakes doesn’t help – only trying to keep them from happening a second time does.

“You want to pick out what we’re gonna have for dinner?” he asks once Steve’s comfortably curled up against him, rubbing the satin edge of blanket against his cheek. He’s never done that before, but something about it must be soothing to him.

“Can I pick anything?”

“You can pick anything as long as it’s takeout,” Bucky tells him. He can let Steve have this one; he doesn’t feel like cooking or negotiating what they’re eating anyway.

“Pizza?”

They’d already had pizza twice in the last week, but whatever. Bucky’s too wrung out to really give a shit. “Pizza is fine. Do you want to look at some menus?”

Steve shakes his head. “You decide.”

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“What’s the highest-rated pizza place that will deliver?”

Bucky orders the usual for them both, a jalapeno and ham pizza for himself and two pepperoni pizzas for Steve; it’s still kind of a novelty to order food through his phone no matter how many times he does it. Not only do fewer things get lost in translation when they make it from the app to the kitchen, but Bucky doesn’t actually have to get on the phone and talk to a real person. It’s fucking _awesome_. Bucky loves not having to make phone calls. He’d have all his therapy sessions with Dr. Ghazali if she did them via WhatsApp.

Steve barely tolerates the wait for Bucky to grab a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and two bottles of water out of the fridge when the food arrives. It’s pretty admirable of him, considering Steve’s current mindset; as an adult, Steve usually doesn’t wait for Bucky to start eating when they’ve gotten something delivered, because he has the patience of a flea put into a box that’s put into another box and mailed off to be smashed by a hammer. It doesn’t take either of them long to demolish their dinner, and Bucky can see why it’s the highest-rated pizzeria in Midtown.

“You know what I think?” Bucky asks after he’s wiped off his hands with a paper towel.

“What?”

“I think we should go and try out that huge tub in the master bathroom.”

Steve lights up. He does really love baths, and clearly the idea of them taking one together is too good to pass up. They can’t do it at home because their own bathtub isn’t big enough. “Can we?”

“Why not? We should both fit no problem. We can try out those jets, too.”

“Do we have to go to bed right after?” Steve wants to know.

“Nah, we can watch a little TV. But you have to be up early tomorrow to get ready, so not too much,” he reminds him.

“I don’t wanna think about that now,” Steve tells Bucky, his expression briefly shuttering.

“Okay. Let’s go. I think there’s a setting for bubbles too,” Bucky says quickly, hoping to distract him and keep the evening light and fun – or at least to salvage it.

It works, because Steve fucking _loves_ bubbles, and they spend probably longer than they should while the jets aim hot, fragrant water right to the places they could use it the most. Just watching Steve play with the bubbles is worth the soak alone. Bucky’s nevertheless surprised by how much more relaxed he feels once he steps out onto the bath rug and wraps a thick, soft towel around his waist. And tired. _How the fuck can I be this tired when I slept like, an extra four hours today?_ And then he remembers that he always underestimates how much shitty brain days take out of him.

“Up and at ‘em,” Bucky says to Steve, who’s already holding his hands out for help standing up and getting out. He starts drying Steve off with another towel, then gives him a choice. “You want to wear a t-shirt and shorts or pajamas to bed tonight?”

“T-shirt and shorts,” Steve decides immediately.

“You can look for something for us to watch while we get dressed.” And Bucky adds, because he’s been played for this before, “Something _short_ , like we talked about earlier. No long movies, Steve.”

“Okay,” he agrees but makes a very big deal out of how reluctant he is to listen to Daddy. And to think he’d gotten all bent out of shape when Peggy had called him melodramatic during their last visit to her. It’s apparently a constant refrain of hers, and Peg’s the only one who can get away with it.

By the time Bucky’s thrown on a pair of boxers and a tank top and helped Steve into his clothes after putting an overnight diaper on him, Steve asks for Looney Tunes, which they watch cuddled up in a nest of pillows. But Steve’s yawning by the end of the second episode, and Bucky’s just about half-asleep too.

“Do you feel better now, Daddy?” Steve asks softly when the lights are out.

“You know what? I _do_ feel a lot better. Thank you for giving me exactly what I needed today, baby,” Bucky tells him, kissing Steve’s cheek, and then planting a sloppy, silly one just for good measure.

“ _Stooooooop_ ,” he protests through giggles.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky smooches him again just because he can. “But now it’s time to go to sleep, so I want you to close your eyes now.”

Steve’s response is a yawn, and he doesn’t say anymore. Bucky sleeps so deeply that it’s mercifully devoid of any dreams at all, and he doesn’t wake up until after Steve’s already gone. He’s still in the Tower, Bucky knows, just on a different floor where the Avengers tend to set up camp while they talk. About what, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care, but he is a little worried about Steve. He’d been so apprehensive yesterday about going through with an entire day’s worth of meetings even as an adult and had been clearly unhappy when Bucky’d reminded him of it after dinner as a kid. And now Steve’s committed to drinks with Natasha and Maria afterward, adding to his obligations. Not that they aren’t fun, because they are, but it’s still more time spent around more people.

Bucky decides to go for a long walk; the day is cool and crisp and sunny, perfect for wandering around Manhattan and stopping for coffee or food whenever the mood strikes him, entering stores that catch his fancy, taking the occasional break to sit on a park bench and watch people go by. It’s a pretty good day – a change of scenery from Washington, for sure. He finishes up his wanderings by walking the entire length of the High Line, surprised by how much green he sees along the way; there are even some flowers still holding on to summer. Even though he’s out for almost nine hours, Bucky gets back to their floor in the Tower first, and the sun is already setting by the time Steve enters from the elevator, stiff and unhappy in his gray suit.

Bucky greets him with a long kiss and an even longer hug. “You want to just relax for the rest of tonight?”

“No.”

“No?” That’s…a surprise, given how worn out Steve looks.

“I wanna go home,” Steve says, hanging onto him tightly. “I wanna go home and I wanna go home _now._ ”

He’s very, very close to sounding little, and that’s also a surprise; Steve isn’t usually little two days in a row. “Okay, let’s pack up and we can be on our way. It won’t take long since we didn’t do all that much unpacking to start with.”

“Thank you.” Steve sounds so relieved that it almost hurts to hear. Today must have taken more out of Steve than he’d thought.

“C’mon, Steve, you can change out of that suit while we’re at it and into something more comfortable for traveling.” Bucky pats his back.

While Bucky starts getting everything back into their bags, Steve strips down completely so he can put on jeans and a t-shirt — and a pull-up. He blushes when he realizes Bucky’s seen it.

“I’m not…I don’t…” The tops of Steve’s ears are beet-red.

“Just need a little extra security right now, huh?” Bucky smiles.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, why don’t you let me drive us home? You can sleep for awhile if you want to. I know you had to wake up early to get in some gym time this morning.”

“Would you? Please?”

“Of course, that’s why I offered. Just make sure we didn’t miss anything, and we can go.”

It doesn’t take long to load the car with their bags, and just before Steve throws the supply bag into the trunk, he opens it and pulls out his blanket, although he keeps it folded on his lap until they’ve crossed into New Jersey. As if on cue, Steve unfolds it, drapes it over himself, and falls asleep before they even make it to the first turnpike exit. He stays that way until they’re passing through Catonsville, waking up and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Time’s it?” he asks blearily.

“A little after nine. The GPS says that we have about an hour to go, but the traffic’s pretty light, so it probably won’t take that long.”

“Oh.” Steve rubs the satin edge of his blanket against his cheek a few times, biting his lip.

Bucky glances over at him. “What’s the matter, Steve?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure? You just haven’t seemed like yourself tonight.”

“M’tired,” he explains, his shoulders drooping. “Today was…a lot.”

“Too many people talking at once to Captain America for too long, huh?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“You want to talk about it?” Bucky’s getting the feeling that Steve does, but that’s for him to decide.

Steve’s quiet for a minute and takes a couple of deep breaths before he answers. “I wasn’t ready for adult stuff when I got up this morning, and it all took _so long_. I felt like I was gonna be stuck in meetings for the rest of my life. I really wanted to bolt after lunch and find you, but I couldn’t think of an excuse that would be good enough without giving myself away.”

Bucky nods, but Steve looks like he wants to say more, so he stays quiet. Steve is a _terrible_ liar and always has been, so the last sentence is definitely accurate. But he’s talking about his feelings instead of bottling them up for later to take out on a punching bag or to air out to Dr. Ghazali, so that’s something.

“It was just so hard to prete—be big for so long,” Steve corrects himself, way too late. “And to have to do it without you to help me get through it. Everything was too much.”

“Steve, do you need to be little right now?”

“I do. But I need to keep talking to you first, because if I don’t ask now I’ll chicken out.”

“You? Chicken out? Nah, never. But go ahead.”

Steve smiles faintly. “Thanks, Buck. I just got to thinking while Scott and Tony were arguing over some engineering thing that got us way off-track, and…I really, really like being little. I don’t wanna do it all the time or anything. But when you let me opt out of adulthood and I don’t have to worry about anything because I know you’ll take care of it, and I know you’ll never let anything happen to me, and you’ll never leave me, that helps more than anything else. It’s so much easier to get out of bed the next day when you’re Daddy the night before.”

“That’s really sweet, Steve. But you’ll have to forgive me—I don’t really hear the question in this.”

He twists his blanket in his fingers so tightly that Bucky hopes it doesn’t rip. “I’ve noticed how good I feel after we’ve…played? I still don’t know what to call this. Less stressed out, less pressured, less overwhelmed. But I also noticed I feel even better when you’ve babied me a little bit. So I was wondering, um. Would it be okay if I decided to be younger sometimes?”

“How much younger?” Bucky asks, curious as to what exactly Steve means.

“Normally I guess I feel about three, or three and a half, maybe?” But he hesitates to say more, anxiety written all over his face.

“Steve, please just spit it out already,” he replies, but kindly.

“Is it okay if sometimes I, uh, wanted to be younger than three? Not like, a baby; that doesn’t sound fun because then I can't really do anything.”

“Of course it’s okay. I’m glad to make that happen. Is there anything you specifically want to do?”

“Um.” Steve fidgets, turning his head to look out the windshield instead of at Bucky. “Well, I don’t wanna wear pull-ups at all.”

“Just diapers?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to have to think about it. And…would you check me? Instead of me telling you I need a change?”

“Steve, half the time you don’t tell me you’re wet anyway and I wind up having to guess,” Bucky says, not bothering to hide his grin.

“But would you? Do it, I mean?”

“Sure, that’s no problem. Anything else?”

“I really like the lid you got for my cup for when I came home from the hospital. It was nice not having to worry about spills.” Steve is a fair bit clumsier than usual when he’s little, so that makes sense to Bucky.

“You know, I think I saw sippy cups made for adult-sized hands on some website. How about a couple of those? I can find it again if I go back into my browser history.”

“Yeah!” Steve brightens up at that, then plunges into his next question. “And can I have more coloring books? But ones that aren’t so complicated. And more books in general. I like it when you read to me. And maybe bigger blocks? Sometimes Legos are too hard.”

“Done and done.” Bucky will also make sure to get some of the big fat crayons, the kind that are easier for smaller children to grasp, even though Steve’s hands are a great deal bigger than that of a real preschooler. Steve’s starting to run out of the regular crayons anyway, so he’ll just add the big ones to his next Amazon order. And, he thinks, some toy dinosaurs and those cool Matchbox cars Bucky’s seen at Target. “What else? Not just about stuff you want to have, but about other things you want me to do. Are you going to want me to feed you?”

“No, I’m not a _baby_!” Boy, does he sound indignant. It’s adorable.

“I could cut up your food for you, make it easier to eat?” Bucky suggests.

“Uh-huh. And…more carrying. It feels safe when you’ve got me in your arms like that.”

“I can carry you more often, within reason.”

Steve nods. “I don’t wanna have to talk so much, either. Words are harder when I’m little sometimes.”

“I know they are, and I can work with that. You’re usually pretty easy to read anyway,” Bucky tells him.

“Oh. Um, I don’t know what else right now.”

“That’s fine. We’ll figure it out along the way.”

“You’re _sure_ you’re okay with this? I might be a lot more work.”

“You aren’t _work_ , Steve _._ I love spending time with you. And I’ve told you,” Bucky says, “I get a lot out of this. It feels right to me, and if it helps you, then that’s what I want to do. And I like the excuse for more physical contact with you outside of sex.”

“I do too,” Steve tells him. “It’s a different way of being intimate, kind of.”

“Not ‘kind of,’ it _is_.” Bucky reaches over to take Steve’s free hand and squeezes it. “And taking care of you makes things easier on me, too. It’s much less difficult for me to figure out where we should go or what we should do or what we should eat because you’re little than it is to navigate the harder stuff. I like setting aside all the adult worries and problems we have for a few hours to focus on simpler ones.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s also a lot more fun.”

“It’s definitely more fun to be a kid now that we have money.”

“Isn’t _everything_ more fun now that we have money?”

Steve laughs, finally. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s nice not having to look for pennies on the sidewalk to afford a subway token. And having heat that works so our pipes don't freeze. And not having to stretch a loaf of bread until it won't stretch anymore."

“See? The 21st century isn’t all bad.”

“Not with you in it.”

Bucky squeezes his hand again. “Feeling’s mutual, pal. Speaking of food, though, you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry, Bucky.”

“I know, your mouth is just a vacuum attachment to the rest of you. But I mean, do you want to stop for something to eat now? Or do you want to wait until we get closer to home?”

“You _like_ it when my mouth is a vacuum attachment.”

“You do give superior head, I’ll grant you that. But could you just answer the question, please?”

“Let’s wait. You said we don't have too much farther to go, right?”

“Nope.”

“Can we stop at that Italian deli on Connecticut Avenue, then? I could really go for a muffuletta.”

“A muffuletta sounds great, actually. Why don’t you call it in once we hit the BW Parkway?”

“As long as you don’t make me do anything else today after that.”

“Steve, it’s just calling in a sandwich order.”

“Yeah, but I _hate_ the phone.”

“Yet somehow, I think you’ll live.”

After Bucky’s merged onto the parkway and Steve’s (begrudgingly) called in their order, he’s had some time to think some more about everything, and says, “Hey, Steve, can I ask how long you’ve waited to ask me about aging down some more when we play?”

“Um. Since I came home from the hospital?”

“You’ve been sitting on that for a week? That’s a long time.”

“I wanted to see if it would go away. Wanting it, I mean. I just…I liked how you took control as soon as I got back and didn’t ask if I wanted to try using the bathroom. You just knew I was feeling little, so you put a diaper on me and took care of everything else. I felt kinda special having your attention like that.”

“I get it,” Bucky replies. “And you _are_ special. But next time you want something, just ask right away, okay? The worst that can happen is I say no, and when have I said no to you yet?”

“You say no to me all the time, Bucky.”

“I mean when you’re little. You don’t have to agonize over asking me for stuff then.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Can I stop being a grown-up now, or do we have to keep talking?”

“Is there anything else you want to say right now?”

“No.”

“Just one more question and I’ll stop bugging you. How old do you want to be tonight?”

“The usual for now. But it might be different once we get home.”

“That’s fine by me.”

Steve leans back into his seat, sliding his index and middle fingers into his mouth, now almost as relaxed as when he’d been sleeping.

“We’ve _got_ to start keeping a pacifier in this car,” Bucky tells him, hoping like hell that Steve’s hands are actually clean, because he can’t deal with the thought of it if they aren’t.

He only gets a smile by way of response, bright like sunshine and sweet as Halloween candy.

The next day, Bucky stashes three pacifiers in the center console after their delivery hits the apartment building’s mail room and ignores Tony’s barrage of texts complaining about their early departure. Steve can handle that one later. After all,  _someone_ has to tell him they can't make Thanksgiving, and it's sure not going to be him. For now, Bucky's only got one thing on his mind: his sweet little boy, who's taking an afternoon nap upstairs, cozy and snug in his brand-new lion kigurumi.


End file.
